


Rules of Attraction

by wheel_pen



Series: Loose Gems [28]
Category: The Rules of Attraction - All Media Types, The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: M/M, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3940819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cocky college student Paul is just looking for a good time, but the person he finds is more than meets the eye. And there might be something special about Paul, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rules of Attraction

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things.   
> Inherent in slavery and other forms of subjugation are dubious consent, unhealthy relationships, and violence.  
> I hope you enjoy this alternate universe, which I own nothing from.
> 
> For visual reference, Aaron is played by Paul Wesley.

Loud music throbbed around Paul, almost drowning out the words he was saying to the guys standing around him. Which was okay; he was just uttering nonsense anyway, and they were all too drunk, stoned, or stupid to follow him. But it was important that he keep talking, keep them nodding more or less attentively, while his eyes scanned the room for someone more interesting. No one wanted to be the loser in the corner all alone, sending out signals of desperation; you had to have people around you, even people you didn’t really know or care about, so that _other_ people knew you weren’t a psychopath.

Of course, sometimes the psychopaths were among the most popular students, Paul reflected as a familiar face crossed his vision on the other side of the room. But he didn’t let his gaze linger; Sean Bateman was just another a-----e on the make, hunting down some fresh meat to add to his list of conquests. Okay, perhaps ‘psychopath’ was a bit much—as far as Paul knew he hadn’t _actually_ killed anyone—but he was definitely far more popular than he deserved to be.

In looking quickly away from Sean—who didn’t even notice him, of course—Paul’s gaze fell on a new face, which was quite unusual in the small, incestuous campus community. He was talking to Nikki Prosser, but Paul didn’t get the sense that he was really into her. Which in and of itself probably meant that he was gay, because Nikki Prosser threw herself at anything with fingers and no way would anyone at a party like this turn her down.

“Excuse me,” Paul said, pushing past the two guys in front of him and making a beeline for the new face. He couldn’t be the only one to have spotted him—classic features, trim lines, expensive shoes—but he was determined to be the first to reach him, threading his way expertly through the crowd. With some alarm Paul saw Deacon Hayes zeroing in as well and picked up the pace, ignoring someone who called his name. The new guy turned away from Nikki and found himself suddenly face to face with Paul, Deacon Hayes glowering in defeat behind him. Paul shot him a smug look and he slunk off.

“Oh, sorry,” the new guy said, stopping short in front of him.

“For what?” Paul asked with a confused smile.

The new guy smiled back. “I almost ran into you.”

Paul decided he was an old soul; he’d always wanted to meet someone like that. “These parties are always too crowded,” Paul opined. “I’m Paul,” he added, holding out his hand. “Did you just transfer here?”

The other guy took his hand—a firm grip, not sweaty, lingered a bit too long for a straight guy. “I’m Aaron,” he replied, “and actually, I’m not a student here.”

“I didn’t think so,” Paul assured him. “I would’ve remembered seeing you around campus.” It was a remark that could be interpreted as flirtatious and Aaron didn’t shy away from it.

“I’m in town on a business trip”—older, employed, with a car—“and I heard the party going on,” Aaron explained. “I didn’t go to too many parties in college and I thought I’d sneak in, see what I missed.” Hmm, a bit worrisome there—was he a stodgy, anti-social nerd? He certainly didn’t look like one _now_. And college couldn’t have been too far in the past for him—two or three years at most.

“And do you feel enlightened yet?” Paul asked cheekily. Just then a beefy townie had the temerity to vomit near them.

“Not really,” Aaron replied dryly, grimacing slightly.

Paul put a hand on his arm and turned him away from the heaving wretch on the floor. Again, he noticed Aaron didn’t shy away from the touch, so he let his hand linger. “What do you say we get out of here?” he suggested, pressing his luck slightly. “What else didn’t you get around to doing in college?” There was no way that remark could _not_ be interpreted as flirtatious.

Aaron grinned suddenly, his green eyes lighting up knowingly. Paul grinned, too, but less genuinely, waiting to see what the rest of his reaction was; he was the one taking a risk here. “Would you like to get something to eat?” he finally asked.

Well, it wasn’t quite, ‘Let’s go back to your dorm room for a night of debauchery,’ but Paul had certainly gotten worse reactions. In fact in made him relax a little—now he knew he had a whole meal during which to ply his charm. “Sure,” he agreed, as if it were no big deal. “What’d you have in mind?”

“I don’t know the area,” Aaron reminded him. “So I’ll have to rely on your expertise.” That could be interpreted as a flirtatious remark and Paul smirked, feeling very confident now.

“Well let’s go,” he decided.

The spring night was cool but not unpleasant; the scent of cigarette smoke and stale beer lingered on their coats as they walked a few dark blocks to the greasy all-night diner, which was quiet at this relatively early hour. Once the party started to wind down students like the beefy townie would stumble in for comfort food, but for now only a few social studiers occupied the pale blue tables, pouring over their books with mugs of coffee at hand.

“Definitely a place I didn’t frequent in college,” Aaron agreed good-naturedly.

“Why?” Paul pressed curiously. If he was dealing with a dull prude, gay or not, he wanted to know now.

“New Haven didn’t seem to have greasy diners,” he shrugged, dropping the name casually. “Only pretentious coffee shops and overpriced organic delis.”

“You went to Yale?” Paul asked. He felt like a goon saying it but the words slipped out anyway.

Aaron confirmed this but without interest in bragging. “What’s good here?” he asked, perusing the menu.

His coat was very expensive, Paul noted—expensive, but not flashy. Like the shoes. “Bacon double cheeseburger with fries,” he suggested, mouth watering despite his attempt to stay focused on Aaron. It had been a long time since the swill they called lunch had been served. “And a vanilla milkshake.”

“Think I’ll go with the chef’s salad,” Aaron demurred to the waitress who hovered over them. This set off warning bells in Paul’s head. They subsided slightly when, after the waitress left, Aaron leaned across the table and said in a low voice, “Can I share your milkshake, though?”

“Maybe,” Paul teased, fully prepared to give in. He briefly imagined Aaron’s lips sucking on the straw and decided not to do that again in public. He cleared his throat to avoid squeaking and asked, “So what’s your job, that brings you to Camden?”

“I work for SkyCorp,” Aaron answered, his tone indicating he didn’t expect Paul to have heard of it, which he hadn’t. “I know, it sounds kind of creepy and generic, doesn’t it? It makes me think of Skynet from _The Terminator_.”

“What is it?” Paul probed curiously. Funny how these things were so much more interesting when it wasn’t his father lecturing him about them.

“It’s this multinational investment corporation,” Aaron told him. He sounded almost apologetic, as though he knew how dull the subject was. “I work in Acquisitions. Mostly I read reports, and write reports, and sit in meetings,” he finished sheepishly.

Paul got the distinct impression he was just being modest. “And you travel to exotic places like Camden,” he prompted.

“Yes, I’m here to research something the company might want to acquire,” he admitted, eyes shifting sideways. He took a sip of water to cover the obfuscation. “I can’t tell you what it is, though.”

“How intriguing,” Paul remarked. He suspected it wasn’t really anything too exciting, but the mystery pleased him. He could be all the more convincing when making up something to tell his friends later, in strict confidence, of course.

“How about you?” Aaron reversed as their food arrived. Paul’s pulse quickened slightly as he eyed the milkshake and the straw. “What’s your major?”

“Oh, economics,” Paul waved off, more excited about the juicy and delicious cheeseburger.

“Really?” Aaron seemed impressed by this, for no reason Paul could discern.

“It’s really pretty infantile,” Paul assured him. This was not modesty, or conversely boastfulness about his prowess; it was sheer disdain. “You just predict the worst possible decision a group of people could make and then put some math on it. That’s basically every single class. I don’t even go anymore.”

“Just show up and take the exams?” Aaron guessed, picking at his salad.

“Well, I’m set to graduate on time,” Paul pointed out, trying not to sound defensive. He got that non-college students always wanted to ask college students _about_ college; but in his opinion a liberal arts education was a waste of parental money, not that he minded wasting it. That had been his experience, anyway.

“No, that’s good,” Aaron assured him. “Why waste time sitting in class if you don’t need to?” He sounded remarkably sincere. “So what do you do with your free time?”

A montage of things Paul, for some reason, didn’t want to describe flashed before his eyes. Getting stoned with his friends (which never seemed to affect him the way it did them, but he kept trying). Hanging out at parties looking for any male with a scrap of gayness about him that he hadn’t already slept with, or more likely only _tried_ to. Occasionally shocking everyone by sleeping with a girl instead, or just hanging out with his ex Lauren, who was a much better person to have as a friend than as a never-quite-got-to-that-stage lover.

“I like to watch foreign films at the art house,” he decided to say. This was actually true, though he feared his pause had been too long to be believable.

“Oh? What directors do you like?” Aaron asked with interest, suggesting some underlying knowledge.

“I like Atbassar,” Paul said, more quickly this time, “although I think _Black Cherry Tea_ is one of his lesser works.” Despite all the awards heaped on it at every international film festival.

“It’s definitely more accessible than, say, _The Midnight Breeze_ or _Stana’s Pearl_ ,” Aaron replied with the ease of long familiarity, “though also less authentic. Watered down, almost.”

“Exactly! Exactly,” Paul agreed. He tried to calm himself; getting worked up over an obscure film discussion was something the drama majors did. “Just—I mean, it’s funny to imagine goat herders in Kyrgyzstan sitting around talking about Tarantino movies, but do they _really_ do that? I mean, to that extent. Like just being a human with a family to feed isn’t enough to connect them with a wider audience, we have to have this Americanized pop culture infection layered over it, too.” He stopped suddenly as he realized he was sounding _exactly_ like a pretentious drama major, and he was so horrified at this thought he couldn’t even come up with something to say to deflect it.

“I see your point,” Aaron said after a long silence. “It’s easy to shoehorn a culture into a shape we’ll recognize—oh, they’re just like us, only they wear funny hats and eat sheep testicles.” Paul chortled at the word, a nervous release of tension, then worried that made him look immature. “It’s much harder to convey the true differences between cultures, while still forging a connection.” Paul did not trust himself to speak further and merely nodded. “I’m more a fan of Polish post-modernism,” Aaron went on, “and I think that’s why I like Wasilewski best.”

Paul couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer. “He’s very subtle,” he agreed. “ _The Warrior, The Blue Tin, Freedom City_ —they sort of creep up on you. Last year they had a marathon at the art theater and I thought his films were horribly dull,” he went on blithely, “but afterwards I just kept thinking about them, wondering what happened to the characters.”

Aaron smiled appreciatively. “I know what you mean. It took me three tries to finish _The Blue Tin_ —every time I stopped I just kept thinking about it until I went back to the shop and rented it again. Could I have some milkshake?” he asked, and Paul blinked, startled to realize he’d been genuinely enjoying the conversation without lascivious thoughts constantly at the forefront of his brain.

“Sure,” he said quickly, pushing the glass a bit closer to Aaron. Now he tried to say something intelligent regarding the subject at hand instead of focusing on Aaron’s nimble fingers unwrapping the straw. “Um, it’s just hard—difficult—to get into Wasilewski sometimes, because others in his field are so much flashier. Dobreva is so versatile, and Kubiak is just so hilarious and-and sexy.”

Aaron broke off sucking up some of the milkshake to frown slightly. “I just have trouble seeing Kubiak’s movies as sexy,” he countered. “He’s too smug and obnoxious for me. A grandstander.”

No, he liked subtlety, quality, Paul assessed, in his shoes, his coat, his movies. So what was he doing with _him_? he wondered suddenly. Paul was not at all subtle, at least not compared to Aaron, and he was in doubt as to his quality as well. The sudden wave of insecurity made him lapse into silence.

Aaron caught his eye and smiled encouragingly. “Are you okay? The bacon’s not getting to you, is it?”

“How old are you?” Paul blurted suddenly. It was uncouth but he really wanted to know.

“Twenty-four,” Aaron answered easily. “How old are _you_?”

“Twenty-one.”

Aaron smirked a little. “And how long have you _been_ twenty-one?”

Paul gave a small grin, knowing what he meant. “Oh, about three years now,” he admitted. “But now I’m _really_ twenty-one.”

“Where are you from?”

“New York.” Wasn’t everyone? “My father’s a banker.” He didn’t mean to say this with such disdain but it came out anyway—not about bankers, just his father.

Aaron did not follow up on that. “Any siblings?”

“My sister Julia is in Paris trying to become a model,” Paul described, rolling his eyes. “I don’t think she speaks French so she’s probably just sleeping with every photographer she can find.” There was an underlying affection in his tone, however—Julia was a reasonable sort of girl, good to have a few laughs with, someone who understood where he was coming from. But he still didn’t like to think about his family much, so he quickly turned the tables. “How about you? Any more like you at home?”

“Well, not exactly,” Aaron told him with a slight smile. “I have a younger brother, Michael, who’s a teenager. He’s autistic and my mom looks after him. My dad is a science teacher at the high school. This is all in Pennsylvania,” he added, since that wasn’t obvious.

Hmm, so he clearly didn’t come from money, then. Meaning his cultured tastes and expensive yet understated clothing had been acquired later in life, presumably through his own efforts. But he couldn’t be very high up in this company and thus couldn’t be making that much money. Interesting. “So what else do you like to do besides watching obscure, subtitled movies?” Paul asked him. And now he really wanted to know the answer instead of just biding him time until he could get him in bed.

**

Aaron politely insisted on paying the check; it was a modest amount but Paul understood the gesture and let him. When they left the diner and went back outside, they found the night had grown cooler and both tightened their jackets around them. Paul pulled out a cigarette and started to light it.

“Oh, hold on,” Aaron told him, and Paul thought for a second he was going to ask him not to smoke, which Paul really wasn’t cool with. Paul took the cigarette away from his mouth to ask and Aaron suddenly leaned in and kissed him, sliding a hand around his neck and up to the back of his head. It was definitely a kiss of enthusiasm, though he broke it off too quickly for Paul’s taste. “Okay,” Aaron allowed with a sly little smile, indicating the cigarette, “go ahead.”

“Forget it,” Paul declared, flicking the lit cigarette into a puddle and diving for Aaron’s lips. He didn’t really need to smoke anyway; it was just a habit, something to do with his hands and mouth. But they were otherwise occupied now.

They broke apart, both grinning stupidly, and Aaron took Paul’s hand and pulled him farther down the sidewalk, away from the glare of the diner’s windows. Then he stopped to kiss him again, as if he couldn’t help himself. Paul knew the feeling. “Would you—“ they both started to say at the same time, then stopped with a chuckle. Aaron indicated Paul should go first. He liked that precedent.

“Would you like to come back to my room?” Paul offered. Though suddenly a twin bed in a shared dormitory setting seemed oddly uncouth and juvenile.

“Would you like to come back to _my_ room?” Aaron countered. “I’m staying at the Bristol…”

Only the nicest hotel in Camden, suitable for hosting the well-heeled parents of Camden College’s over-privileged students. Much better than the dorms any day. “Okay,” Paul agreed with a shrug, as though he were compromising.

Aaron grinned, seeing through his façade, and led him back to where his car was parked. They held hands as they walked; normally Paul loathed holding hands, but somehow it felt comfortable right now. The frequent stops to kiss probably helped, though it didn’t take Paul long to get impatient. He suspected Aaron wasn’t the type to go for a quickie in the bushes, though.

“Nice car,” Paul commented, wondering if Aaron would go for a quickie _here_.

“It’s a rental,” Aaron shrugged modestly. Probably not, then.

Though, to Paul’s surprise, he found Aaron wasn’t _entirely_ predictable—he drove boldly, confidently, well above the speed limit when the road was clear, and not in a distracted way that suggested he was simply eager to reach his destination. Another car made an unexpected move and Aaron swerved so smoothly Paul almost didn’t notice; his conversation didn’t even hitch. There was something terribly sexy about this confidence; and yet at the same time it made Paul feel wonderfully secure. He had never associated security with sexiness before—usually to him sexy was something risky, the unknown, something that could hurt you, at least emotionally.

“What?” Aaron asked when he caught Paul staring.

“You’re a really sexy driver,” Paul replied baldly, and Aaron laughed unexpectedly, surprised by the compliment.

“Well… thanks,” he finally said.

The valet took the car at the hotel and Aaron strolled through the lobby still holding Paul’s hand. It was late; the only people around were employees who were paid to be polite. And it was 2011, after all. But a certain thrill still went through Paul—he wouldn’t have thought less of Aaron for discreetly dropping his hand once people were around. But he didn’t. And he didn’t stop giving Paul little smiles as they crossed to the elevators—everyone in the lobby surely knew what they were going off to do.

The room was nice but normal—no Presidental Suite or anything, or Paul would really have gotten suspicious. “Can I use your bathroom?” he asked.

“Of course,” Aaron allowed. Paul figured they could both use a couple moments of preparatory alone time.

Glancing up to make sure Paul was firmly in the bathroom with the door closed, Aaron pulled out his cell phone. _At the hotel with him_ , he texted. A moment later he grinned a little to himself and added, _He’s really cute_.

The reply came back momentarily. _Good for you_. Devoid of context, it seemed slightly sinister. Aaron shook his head at that notion and set the phone aside, instead concentrating on pulling back the covers on the bed and fiddling with the satellite radio system.

“What kind of music do you like?” he called, but there was no answer.

A moment later Paul emerged. “Sorry, did you say something?” he inquired.

“Is the music okay?” Aaron asked him.

“You might as well have jazz,” Paul agreed, “if we’re not going to listen to it.”

Aaron grinned at the snotty answer. “I can change it,” he offered.

Paul stepped closer and slid his arms over Aaron’s shoulders. “Don’t bother. We won’t even notice it soon,” he promised.

**

Later. “Do you want to spend the night?” Aaron asked softly, his arms around the other young man. Paul muttered something unintelligible and burrowed closer against Aaron’s chest. “Okay,” Aaron agreed with good humor. He tugged the blankets up around them. “Go to sleep,” he added unnecessarily, kissing Paul’s forehead.

**

“Good morning,” Aaron finally said, amusement in his tone.

Paul tried to stretch nonchalantly. “ _That’s_ a nice way to wake up,” he decided. Propping himself up on one elbow he stared down at Aaron. “So what are we doing today?” Aaron did not look uncomfortable as he said this, which was a good sign; but then his smile turned rueful, and that _wasn’t_ so good.

“Unfortunately, I have to work today,” he admitted. “I’d like to call you tomorrow afternoon, though,” he added sincerely. “Can I do that?”

For a moment Paul wondered if he was getting the brush-off. Then he realized that didn’t really make sense with Aaron’s attitude—it was just what he was used to at this point. Aaron said he was in town to work, so why shouldn’t he need to work, even if it was a Saturday? He was clearly the responsible type.

Though he _had_ taken a total stranger back to his hotel room for the night.

“Sure, that’d be great,” Paul told him. He allowed enough enthusiasm to creep into his tone to encourage Aaron; but not so much that he’d feel like an idiot later, if things didn’t work out.

“I’ll drive you back to campus,” Aaron offered. “But I do have a breakfast meeting at nine,” he added regretfully.

“You’re a morning person, aren’t you?” Paul accused with a sigh, and Aaron grinned. Of course he was.

**

“Turn left up here,” Paul directed. “There, that’s my dorm, Foster Hall.” He pointed at the building they were approaching. “The parking’s free but it’s better to park way at the back if you’re a visitor. The students with cars can get very territorial about the good spaces.”

“I’ll remember that,” Aaron replied, and suddenly Paul wondered why he’d said that—it was a big assumption, wasn’t it, that Aaron would be parking here anytime soon. Aaron didn’t seem bothered by it, though.

He stopped the car close to the dorm entrance. “Can I kiss you here?” he asked, and Paul felt a huge grin spread across his face before he could stop it.

“Yes,” he agreed, so they did. No one was out this early on a Saturday morning anyway, but Paul appreciated the consideration.

“Tomorrow afternoon,” Aaron reiterated when they broke apart. “I’ll call you.”

Finally Paul got out of the car, walking up the sidewalk to the dorm and allowing himself only a couple of looks backwards. Aaron sat in the car, watching him, and waved. He didn’t drive off until Paul was inside.

Once there Paul could no longer contain his glee and pulled out his cell phone, dialing Lauren’s number as he walked through the lobby. She hadn’t answered by the time he reached her room so he pounded on the door instead.

“G-d, _what_?!” she demanded grumpily, answering the door in her pajamas with her hair askew. Paul pushed his way in and saw that her roommate was not in the other bed.

“Skank’s gone. Good,” he judged, plopping down on Lauren’s bed comfortably. “I have to tell you about this awesome guy I met last night. You’re going to die!”

Lauren tried to muster some enthusiasm, though it was early. “Okay,” she agreed, crawling onto the bed as well. “Let’s hear about the crush du jour.”

**

While Paul told Lauren about his adventures from the night before, Aaron drove back to his hotel. He took a shower and changed, then pulled a small cooler from the mini-fridge and went back to his car. He grabbed a quick breakfast at a coffee shop—alone—then started the drive back to New York City. It was three hours to the heart of the city but only about one and a half to the outer fringe that he was headed for. He listened to the news and weather, occasionally glancing over at the cooler in the front seat with an uncertain expression. But really there was nothing to be uncertain about—he knew exactly what he was supposed to do.

There was a frontage road off the highway, then a series of second-tier businesses and empty buildings, then a chain-link fence with a guard house. The sign out front said Skycorp Biologics #11. The guard looked over his company ID, then opened the fence so he could drive on through, up to the main building. It was generic beige stone, featureless, innocuous, and Aaron only knew where to park because he’d been briefed on it. He took the cooler and walked in through the front door, trying not to feel self-conscious. People came here for this purpose all the time, he reminded himself.

There was another ID check at the door, then finally he approached a desk where a nurse-type was working at the computer. “Can I help you?” she asked with professional coolness.

“Aaron Corbett,” he said, handing over his ID. He realized he didn’t know exactly what else to say. “Um, Dr. Brown was expecting me to—“

She handed his ID back after checking in the computer. “Yes, you can go on back,” she allowed, pointing.

“Thank you.” He tried to follow her minimal directions and ended up in a maze of offices, exam rooms, and laboratories. What workers there were noticed him but didn’t seem concerned.

“Corbett?” said a voice from behind him and Aaron turned to see a middle-aged man in a lab coat, carrying a clipboard, emerge from an office.

“Yes, that’s me,” Aaron agreed.

“Dr. Brown,” the man introduced, shaking his hand. He indicated the cooler. “Well, let’s see what you’ve got.” He gestured for Aaron to enter a lab across the hall and followed closely behind him. “Tissue type?” he asked clinically, snapping on some latex gloves.

“Semen,” Aaron replied, trying to sound professional.

Dr. Brown set the cooler on a bench and opened it, pulling a Ziploc bag containing some crumpled Kleenexes from the icepacks. “Should be sufficient,” he decided, slapping a barcode label onto the bag before packing it away again. A corresponding barcode sticker was on the remaining paperwork on the clipboard. “Sign here,” he instructed Aaron, who did so. “We’ll take it from here.”

Aaron nodded and saw himself out, navigating the maze to reemerge at the nurse’s station. _Brought sample to lab_ , he texted.

 _Good_ , came the reply. _Report to conference room 12 for debriefing_.

“Conference room 12?” he asked the nurse, who pointed silently in the other direction. “Thank you.”

**

Sunday morning Aaron was jogging on the treadmill in the hotel’s gym when he felt his cell phone vibrate. He tried to read the text message that had just come in but everything was jerking up and down too much, so he stepped onto the footrails at the side and peered down at it again.

 _Lab confirms ID_ , the message read. _Proceed_.

 _Understood_ , Aaron texted back. Then he decided he would go take a shower and call Paul. It appeared he’d be sticking around Camden for a while, and he couldn’t say he was unhappy about that.

**

_A few days later…_

There was not a lot going through Paul’s mind at the moment, except the instinct to curl up and protect himself, and the blind panic creeping in at the edges about what would happen if he just didn’t stop—

Then suddenly he _did_ stop, and there was a thump and a moan, and a familiar voice asking, “Paul! Are you alright?”

Paul’s eyes flew open and he saw Aaron kneeling over him, concern tinged with horror written across his features as he assessed the other young man’s condition. Paul had never been so glad to see anyone in his life, though the euphoria quickly died when every movement sent shooting pains through his ribcage. “I’m okay,” he said anyway, through gritted teeth. His eyes widened in alarm and he started to sit up despite the pain. “Look out—“

He needn’t have worried. Aaron spun around with practiced ease, catching the pipe his would-be attacker wielded and ripping it from his grasp. He then proceeded to beat the s—t out of the other man, elegantly and in a matter of seconds, before Paul had time to decide if he was impressed or frightened.

Aaron dumped the senseless body in a corner of the alley, looking around to see if the altercation had been witnessed. “Come on, we have to go,” he insisted, pulling Paul to his feet. “Can you walk?”

“Well, yes, of course—“ Paul tried to tell him, embarrassment irrationally taking over now.

Aaron grabbed his dropped backpack and threw it over one shoulder, followed by Paul’s arm. “Good. Come on, my car’s this way.”

Paul found himself practically carried across the lawn towards the parking lot. “How did you do that?” he wanted to know, of Aaron’s sudden martial prowess.

“I will explain to you in a few minutes,” Aaron promised, managing to sound patient and urgent at the same time. He flipped his cell phone open and dialed. “Corbett. I have a situation on campus. I need a clean-up crew at these coordinates. One down.”

“Who are you talking to?” Paul wanted to know, goggling at the strange behavior.

Aaron fished out his keys and put Paul in the front seat of the car with his bag. “ _Do you have the asset?_ ” a cool female voice asked over the phone.

“Yes, I do,” Aaron agreed, slamming Paul’s door and hurrying around to the driver’s side. “I need a drive-through and a safe house with a doctor,” he added.

“Safe house? What are you talking about?” Paul insisted again as Aaron started the engine.

“Can you put your seatbelt on?” Aaron asked Paul away from the phone. He started to reach over to do it for him.

“I can do it!” Paul protested, buckling himself up clumsily. Aaron began to guide the car quickly onto the street.

“ _Drive-through 27_ ,” the woman on the phone announced. “ _Safe house 124_.”

“27 and 124,” Aaron repeated. “En route.” He hung up to concentrate on driving at a rather high speed.

“What’s going on?!” Paul blurted. Confusion added to the pain he felt, though it neatly wiped away the embarrassment.

Aaron hesitated, giving him a sideways glance. “When I told you about my job,” he finally said, weaving through the traffic so expertly no one even honked, “I may have left a few things out.”

“Oh my G-d, are you in the Mafia?!” Paul demanded. It was the first thing that came to mind. He had actually met a Mob boss once— _alleged_ Mob boss—at a social function with his parents, and the event had made a strong impression on him.

The look Aaron gave him suggested he was completely off-base, however. “No,” he replied, as though the idea was slightly ridiculous. “I work for Skycorp, in Acquisitions. But,” he added more sheepishly, “some of my assignments are… dangerous.”

Paul’s eyes widened. “Are you a spy like James Bond?” he tried. The excitement almost made him forget about the pain he was in.

“No,” Aaron denied again. Suddenly the car slowed as he approached an apartment building and rolled smoothly into their underground parking garage, the door pulling up as if on command. But Paul didn’t see an opener in the car.

“Are you—“

“Sorry, just a minute,” Aaron interrupted politely. He stopped the car in the middle of the garage—near another car that was similarly parked, which a man leaned against. Another got out of the driver’s seat as Aaron exited his own car. In a moment he was pulling open Paul’s door. “Can you get in the other car?” he asked with concern. “I’ll get your bag.” One of the other men—silent, dark-suited, just like in a movie—was transferring something from the trunk of Aaron’s car to the new one.

Paul got out automatically, wincing, and Aaron reached to assist him. “No, I’m fine,” Paul insisted, though clearly he wasn’t. The second stranger opened the passenger side door of the new car and stepped back a bit, waiting for Paul to climb inside. The younger man hesitated, however, leaning on the door as he watched Aaron confer with the other man.


End file.
